


I have been anxious to improve in the nick of time

by Frost-Sama-Senpai-San (BoyWonderful)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: College AU, F/F, M/M, Multi, Young, idk - Freeform, ummmm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyWonderful/pseuds/Frost-Sama-Senpai-San
Summary: Hanzo never asked to be moved across the Pacific. He also never asked for a certain cowboy to interrupt his business, then buy him coffee, but here he was, sipping his drink in the middle of New Mexico.





	

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> I've been sitting on this for awhile. Just take it.

_The clouds of the sunset shrouded the world in a filtered ambiance. The sky cast in such beautiful pastel swarths of pinks, purples, and oranges did little to hide the violence beneath. The pure pretty of nature juxtaposed the ugly agony of those being torn to shreds within it’s unfeeling gaze._

_Hanzo Shimada, eldest son of the Shimada clan, found himself straddling the line between natural grace, and manufactured pain. He stood at the boundary, high above the carnage, nearly floating over the unlucky bastards finding their deaths on the soft grass. In fact, he was the one responsible for such antithesis. He stood, shoulders back, arrow notched, eyes keen for his next target. The movement was easy, quick, just a simple release of the string, and his target no longer existed._

_He stood like an angel of death, golden silk ribbon caught by the wind, wavering like bleeding ichor._

_The bodies piled around him, blood staining the gentle green below. The entire ground looked like a toddler’s attempt to paint a Christmas picture: red and green, some splatters, some lines. The artist above watched, eyes cold as he notched another arrow. This was his masterpiece, one he had been groomed to create._

_He loosed another arrow._

_He did not miss._

 

To say the constant buzzing next to Hanzo’s head was pleasant would be to lie. It was irritating on a good day, downright repulsive on a bad one, and Hanzo had the distinct pleasure of knowing exactly who it was calling him. 

“Genji, I do not get up for another hour,” he answered, using precisely the amount of venom he had intended, “This is your second strike.”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s important,” the voice on the other side was the exact opposite of Hanzo’s. It was young, soft, playing the melodious tenors of one not too far out of puberty, like he still had some growing to do. 

The youth in his brother’s voice reminded Hanzo of his journey for patience. He was still a kid after all. He sighed, “And what constitutes your meaning of the word important?” 

There was a pause, as if Genji were coming up with the perfect lie. The son of a gang leader should probably work on his fibbing. Finally, he blurted out, “I’m having trouble in math! And since you’re so good at it, I figured you could help me.” 

Hanzo was very aware of the flattery tactic, and it worked wonders on him, especially from his rebellious brother. He chewed his lip, pretending to think as if he hadn’t already made up his mind. Eventually he sighed, controlling his exasperation to the milligram, “Fine. I have class in two hours. Meet me in the coffee shop under the English building at 11.” 

Genji filled the silence with a giddy little laugh, breathy, but there. The satisfaction in his voice was obvious, “Okay! See you there!” 

 

Hanzo sighed as the receiver clicked dead. He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to rub the sleep out of his expression. That was a pointless attempt, considering drowsy had been implanted into his skin as a young boy. 

He stretched, yawning, basking in the warm sunlight that filtered through his window. It was nearly 7:30 in the morning, and Hanzo usually made a point not to stir before at least 8. His routine had been interrupted twice in the last four days, and a bright and happy attitude never existed in the first place, so here he sat: tired and grumpy. 

Hanzo’s dorm was more like a single room apartment, beige and generically homey, one of the mass produced boxes made luxurious enough to attract wealthy patrons, yet simple enough to maximize profits and kinda sorta fit everybody’s specific tastes. His father rented it for him, mainly because it was his idea to send both Hanzo and his brother to the same university in southern New Mexico. Though it was generically upscale, it was warm and dry, kind of like the rest of the ugly state, and Hanzo often found himself feeling overwhelmingly lonely, still, he wouldn’t complain. At least he wasn’t in a communal dorm like Genji. 

Hanzo rolled out of bed, feet touching the wooden panelling. Immediately, his hair fell into his face in scraggly little tuffs here and there: fallout from the braid he had slept in. The feathery hair touches elicited a sigh from Hanzo. He would either have to re-braid his hair, or take a shower. Life was difficult for the beautiful. 

He mentally smacked himself for that thought. 

Breakfast was a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He ate it slowly, having an extra 30 minutes to savor such a beautiful morning. Besides chewing, Hanzo spent that time staring at the wall, finding himself overwhelmingly interested in the soft light gradient. He was pretty sure he was already losing his mind. 

Hanzo decided against a shower, instead choosing to stare at himself in the mirror, yanking and pulling on his hair every which way to make the kinks go away. He pouted at himself, dissatisfied, before deciding to just twist it up into a bun. The messy quality of his hair seemed out of place against his severe features. He had a slim face, more bone than strength along his jaw, and a prominent, slightly hooked nose. The bones of his face melded away to pure muscle along his neck that followed all the way down throughout the rest of his body. He also carried a perpetual frown, through no fault of his own. His entire body had the air of someone constantly on edge, constantly looking over their shoulder, but neither were done with nervousness. His vigilance was required, as every second he had to notch his arrow was another second to aim, to calculate the wind speed and direction. His body was built for his craft, dark, intelligent eyes poised for the strike of the dragon. Hanzo Shimada was the exact definition of beautifully dangerous. 

He sighed, a trademark action of his, before turning to get dressed. He decided to continue the completely not-put-together look from his hair problems, and yanked on a simple pair of jeans, and a grey hoodie. Sure, he wasn’t having the best morning ever, but Hanzo Shimada was not one to let an annoying morning get in the way of all the things he arbitrarily forced on himself. 

He grabbed his bag, ready to just take the long way to class, only to realize he’d neglected to close it. His books scattered onto the floor in a mess of oddly bent pages and loud bangs. 

It was going to be a long day. 

 

***

 

Lit class had been altogether uneventful. There were some outbursts of anger due to the Byronic hero ideals, but, otherwise, nothing of interest. Well, there was the quote the professor had discussed at the beginning of the lecture:  
“In any weather, at any hour of the day or night, I have been anxious to improve the nick of time, and notch it on my stick too; to stand on the meeting of two eternities, the past and the future, which is precisely the present moment; to toe that line.” 

It was a Thoreau quote, and was presently driving Hanzo mad. He’d spent most of the hour and a half just trying to decipher the deeper meanings. All he could manage to relay was Thoreau dreamed to be able to list the passage of time, while also anticipating the time yet to come. He wanted to see both sides of existence stretching towards the horizon, to comprehend the actions that had lead him to the present moment, while also understanding what would allow him to follow future through to his next now. 

It was either that, or Thoreau just wanted a sandwich or something. Hanzo had very strong opinions about Transcendentalists: mainly, they needed to calm down. 

Moody middle-aged men aside, Hanzo found himself at the entrance to the generic Starbucks just under the English building. It was pretty much like every other generic coffee shop in existence. It had dark walls, and random pictures of coffee beans everywhere, lit by the most unique™ hanging lamps one could imagine. 

Hanzo looked down at his phone. It was only 10:45, and Genji made a point to always be at least 15 minutes late, so, Hanzo went to the counter to order his coffee -a venti non-fat chai latte- which took exactly until Genji arrived to be ready for him. 

Genji wasn’t alone. A slender boy with skin the colour of finely ground ocher accompanied him. He was bald, though one could just barely make out the shadow of dark hair growing all over his scalp, and wore loose clothes, almost like robes. He walked gently, light steps that gave the appearance of floating. He had a calm, content smile plastered on his face, one of his hands encased in Genji’s, pulling him along, though he didn’t seem to mind. The guy looked like he was in his own world, and, for all anyone knew, he could be. 

Genji was an absolute mess… well, at least by Hanzo’s standards. His neon green hair stuck up in tuffs, completely revealing dark black at the base of each strand, and his jeans were ripped to the point of uselessness. As if that weren’t punk enough, he wore not one, but two leather pieces: a jacket and fingerless gloves. They all coordinated very nicely with his dark grey t-shirt. Hanzo was almost embarrassed to be seen with him. 

Whether or not he was prepared to accept Genji as his brother, said brother waved at him, big and bright, like he had nothing better to do than point out that he was there to meet Hanzo, and quickly made his way over to where Hanzo had placed his belongings. 

 

“Hey there, sweet, dear brother of mine!” As a younger brother, Genji had learned to suck up, which made the awful job he was doing of it rather strange. “So, this is-”

“Zenyatta,” Hanzo cut him off, acknowledging the man with a bow of his head, “I have seen him on your Snapchat. You say he is the beautiful boy who never takes a bad picture.”

Genji gaped, not prepared for his brother to just throw his business out into the open like that. He stuttered, trying to find a snarky, defensive reply. The playboy of the Shimada family was off his game. 

Luckily for Genji, Zenyatta chuckled, nodding his head in return. His smile was bright, as if he were a one-man meadow, “I have never been called ‘beautiful’ before, but I accept the compliment, regardless of where it comes from.” 

Genji had gone from struggling to speak, to watching the way Zenyatta’s mouth moved as he talked. 

Hanzo brought his drink to his lips, eyes sharp on the movements of his brother’s face. He’d only ever seen Genji with fiery eyes and keen lips, but, here, with this boy, he was melting, draining into a lovesick puddle. Zenyatta must have been something very special. 

Zenyatta licked his lips, “Genji,” he turned to him, hand going just above his elbow, “Aren’t you going to get coffee?” 

Genji watched the other’s hand slide up his skin before making eye-contact. He nodded, turning to eye the line. “Yeah, be right back.” With his parting words, Hanzo and Zenyatta were left alone. 

Zenyatta sat across from the other, letting out a large breath. The gaze he set on Hanzo was glittering with happiness, “Excuse me for being so forward but,” he stilled, trying to gather himself, “Does he really call me beautiful?” 

There it was. Hanzo had been woken up too early in the morning just to be a wingman. He offered a small smile, though it was directed at the table in an attempt to hide his annoyance. “He does, indeed, call you that, among many other things.” 

Zenyatta turned, smiling into his hand. He seemed to radiate positive energy and, had Hanzo not been such a grump, he would’ve probably felt it too. 

Okay, maybe he was feeling it a little bit, his smile turning into a snort, just an amused exhale. “I have never seen him act that way around anyone before. You must be very special.”

Zenyatta chuckled, as if Hanzo’s compliment had amused him greatly, “I am nothing of the sort, but I appreciate your kind words.” He looked back up, as if resetting himself. He made gentle eye-contact with Hanzo, just open and friendly, not expecting or aggressive. “So, Genji tells me you have a fondness for Philosophy?” 

That was the last hint to put Zenyatta completely together. From his calm, gentle nature, and clothing choices, Hanzo had suspected the other to be a Philosophy major, but the question nailed the conclusion home. Hanzo sighed in response, irritation bubbling back into his throat, “Yes, though I prefer Stoicism to other, more blithe, beliefs.” 

Zenyatta responded with another amused chuckle, “Yes, I suppose Zeno’s teachings would fit you, though, I have never heard Platonist ideals referred to as ‘blithe’. It is an in-” Zenyatta cut himself off, lips hanging slightly parted as his deep brown eyes settled on Hanzo. He shut his mouth, eyebrows quirking together in concern, “My apologies, did I say something to offend you?” 

If Zenyatta was anything, he was observant. Hanzo was shocked the other had picked up on his irritation. He was usually so good at hiding it. 

Zenyatta didn’t give him a chance to answer. His concerned face quickly turned to a sigh, “Genji lied to get you here, I assume.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “I told him I would be interested in meeting you, but I never thought he would-.”

“He wants me to impress you so you’ll let him-” Hanzo cut himself off, the lewd words dying in his throat. This was neither the time nor place to explain what was on Genji’s To-Do list. Hanzo sighed, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck with blunt nails, “I am sorry. I did not mean for you to- uh- sense my annoyance.” 

Even through his pause, Zenyatta waited for Hanzo to finish his thought. He shook his head, offering a supportive smile, “It was through no fault of your own. I am very adept at sensing the mood. My friends often call it unsettling.” He allowed himself a little chuckle at his own words. 

The laugh died between them, air filled with that awkward tension of two men at a loss of their next move. 

Zenyatta broke the silence by clearing his throat. He sighed, shutting his eyes in something akin to disappointment, “I will have a word with Genji, though. His lies will one day get him into trouble.” 

Speaking of lies, “Has he told you about his reputation?” 

Zenyatta snapped to attention, concern filling his face. He blinked, trying to maintain his calm demeanor, “I am not sure to what you are referri-”

“He enjoys using people as playthings,” he interrupted, “ He does it to prove his freedom from the pressure of our family. He uses other human beings as a way to rebel. He has always been a selfish boy, even during our childhood.” Hanzo hadn’t meant to let it all come out. He was tired, and irritated, and Zenyatta seemed so kind. The way Hanzo saw it, he deserved to know about the man he had obviously gotten very close to. 

“Oh really?” Genji was standing behind Hanzo, hand clutched tightly enough around a flimsy cardboard cup that the lid had popped off, “Is that how you see me?” 

Hanzo didn’t even turn, just looked straight ahead, past Zenyatta to the aesthetic coffee grinds behind him, “I am not stating my opinions, Brother, I am quoting facts.” 

Genji laughed, a dark laugh that bubbled from the anger in his blood, “Oh? Facts?” He slammed the drink down on the table, coffee splashing up onto his hand. If the liquid burned him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stepped into Hanzo’s view. “Do tell where the facts come from, dear brother.” 

Where Hanzo had the hard features of a man just before his prime, Genji was the round-faced child, fresh out of puberty. His anger only emphasized the immaturity in his full cheeks, rampant in his deep viridian eyes. His youthful arrogance pissed Hanzo off. He rolled his eyes, “Need I a source when our entire family agrees? You are a blight on the Shimada name.” 

At some point, Hanzo had switched into Japanese. It was more private, easier to articulate in, and, frankly, the language he damn preferred. 

Genji responded in their shared tongue, volume raising to an almost yell, “A blight?” He threw his head back, an angry scoff shooting into the air, “Just because I don’t kiss Dad’s ass like you do?” He dropped an octave, voice growing far lower than the smooth tenor of young adulthood, “You have no idea the difficulties I have had in my life.” 

Hanzo was on his feet, hand rapping hard against the fake wood table. He was yelling now, deep tones filling the crowded space of the shop, “Difficulties!?” He leaned forward, baring his teeth, “You climbed trees while I spent hours in studies! You enjoy a life of freedom while I am forever chained to our name, and you have the audacity to call your own trials difficult?!” His muscles tensed as spit flew from his lips. He could feel the pure, unadulterated lividity in his blood, boiling beneath his eyes. “You know nothing of difficulties!” 

Genji took a literal step back, anger falling to shock. He swallowed, brows still drawn together. He opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his. 

“Genji,” Zenyatta interrupted his thought, voice calm, though firm. “I understand that you are upset. Both of you are absolutely justified in your anger, but this is neither the time nor place for such an argument.” He laced his fingers with Genji’s, “Deep breaths, Sparrow. You are alright.” 

Genji’s silence remained for only a moment longer before he nodded, eyes falling shut in defeat. His voice cracked as he spoke in a sigh, “Okay.” He nodded, trying again in English, “Yes, you’re right.” He sat, body slowly surrendering into the calm he was forcing upon himself. “I’m alright.” 

While Genji was calming down, Hanzo was getting more riled up. His brother had no idea of the sacrifices he had had to make because he was the eldest brother. Hanzo Shimada was a name not easily worn, but he had had no choice but the be the shoulders that bared such weight. He clenched his fists, fully prepared to continue tearing into his brother. 

“Woah there.” 

Hanzo froze as a warm hand touched his shoulder. It was large, and the voice behind him was deep and thickly accented. It continued.

“Now, I don’t know what y’all are all angry about, but that guy there is right. This is a shop an’ it’s no place to be hollerin’.” The hand on Hanzo’s shoulder slipped down to his arm for just a second before disappearing completely, “It seems to me that ya need to take a walk. Now c’mon, I’ll show ya t’the park,” the voice was very close to his ear, “It’s real pretty.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion, though Hanzo seriously doubted the stranger could actually force him to do anything. Still, he was probably being stared at, and Hanzo could live without that. He turned, face to face with a man maybe six inches above him. He looked like something straight out of a Western film, cowboy hat, dark pigment, brown eyes and all. He was widely built, muscular, though soft around the edges, as if he’d interspersed intense hours of training with Southern Home Cooking™. He probably had. Looking at him, Hanzo had two immediate thoughts: damn, and fuck off. 

His tone was nothing short of snarky, “I will take a walk, but I need no accompaniment, Pardner.” Hanzo sneered the last word, even dropping his speech into a bastardized drawl, just to show the stranger what for. 

Hanzo left no room for replies as he yanked his bag onto his shoulder and promptly stormed out of the shop, leaving all the normal people staring after him. 

 

***

 

His walk would have actually been pretty relaxing, had the stupid cowboy not decided to stick around. No, he jogged to catch up to Hanzo maybe ten to twenty minutes later. He held two coffee cups in his hand. 

“Hey!” He called after him, slightly out of breath as he slowed to a walk besides Hanzo, “I saw ya left yer coffee, but it was all cold and such, so...” He smiled, holding a cup out to him, “Now, I ain’t knowing what kind a’ coffee ya like, so I got ya my fav’rite.” 

As annoyed as Hanzo was, he was not about to say no to a free cup of coffee. He took the cup, bringing it up to his lips. It wasn’t scalding, but it was still warm and familiar. “A venti non-fat chai latte,” he smiled, finding himself genuinely charmed, “Very kind of you, Cowboy.” 

“As much as I appreciate the Western idioms, I do got a name.” He pulled his cowboy hat off his head, making a grand sweeping gesture of bringing it to his chest, “Jesse McCree.”

Maybe Hanzo had been too quick to judge him. He wasn’t as much actual cowboy as he was cowboy aesthetic. Jesse wore a red, short-sleeved flannel, tucked into jeans with the biggest belt buckle Hanzo had ever seen. It had a saying in another language Hanzo couldn’t read, though he guessed it as Spanish. The aesthetic was continued by his cowboy boots and the hat he was replacing back on his fluffy, sweaty hair. He was a hairy man, beard short and scraggly, like he had meant to shave, but never gotten around to it. He was beautiful in his own sense, as weird as Hanzo thought it was. The only thing he had a problem with was the pistol openly strapped to his belt. 

Hanzo pointed it out, “Well, Jesse, I do hope you have no reason to use that gun on me.” He gestured to it, eyes serious though his tone was flirty. 

Jesse’s hand reflexively went to his hip, fingers echoing the grip for a second before he just patted it. He laughed, “Aw, this ol’ thing? Naw, I only bring her out on special occasions.” Though his tone was light, the edge of actual danger cut through the words. 

Hanzo lifted his brows, pondering over that for a moment, “It is legal here, then? To own weapons for one’s own purposes?” 

Jesse’s previous laugh dulled against his new one, as if he were genuinely amused, “Darlin’,” he started, “This is New Mexico. It’s easier to buy a gun here than a house.” 

“That is… concerning.” It was true. Hanzo couldn’t imagine having the freedom to openly carry his weapon back home. If that’d been legal, his life would’ve been much easier. 

Jesse let out a sigh, tipping his hat in conceit, “I reckon there are plenty a’ folks that’d agree with ya.” He paused for a moment to take a sip of his coffee. It was gone with that last sip. How much had he had on the way? He shoved the cup right way up in his pocket before speaking again, “Anyways, ya never told me yer name.” 

“Hanzo,” he answered casually, first name only. There was no need to disclose his family name. 

“Hanzo?” He said it with a drawl that was either endearing or annoying. Hanzo hadn’t decided yet. 

“Yes, my name is Hanzo.” He emphasized the short a sound, hoping the other would learn how to say it correctly. 

He didn’t, “Well, that is an interesting name if I’d ever heard one. Where ya from, Hanzo?” 

Okay, it was a little endearing. Still, Hanzo wasn’t going to make this easy for him, “I was thinking you could guess.” He had heard him speak Japanese in the shop earlier, it shouldn’t be hard to-.

“Michigan!” 

What? “What?” He asked, turning to shoot an incredulous glance in the other’s direction, “No, not Michigan.” He sighed, shaking his head, “I was speaking Japanese. I’m from Japan.” 

Jesse shrugged, clueless, “Well, how on Earth was I s’posed t’know? Losta folks ‘round here speak different languages. Hell, even I can speak two.” He paused, “Kinda.” 

Hanzo snorted, small smile coming to his lips, though he squirreled it away as fast as possible. He, instead, posed a question, “How can one ‘kinda’ speak a language?” 

Jesse brought his hand up to his neck, avoiding eye contact for a long moment, as if he were trying to gage what to tell him. He looked back, expression open, though unsure, “Well, my abuela brought my mom over from Mexico when she was just a youngin. My mom tried her damndest to only speak English t’me. Somethin’ ‘bout how she didn’t want me ta have ta go through all the bullshit of learnin’ it.” He shrugged, looking up towards the sky, “I can understand it, and read it somewhat, but I have a hard time speakin’ it back.” He looked back down to Hanzo, “It’s like.. My brain knows what ta say, but my mouth just can’t form the words quite right.” 

Those eyes of his had Hanzo looking away. He smiled to the ground opposite Jesse, tone playful, “Maybe it has something to do with that awful accent.” 

“Hey now,” Jesse’s voice bespoke his smile, “I don’t want ta hear a word about my drawl. Some folks find it charmin’.” He fell silent for a moment before, “Are you one a’ them folks?” 

Hanzo felt his heart stutter. There was no way this cowboy was actually flirting with him. Well, there could be a way; he had just asked if Hanzo found him charming. Hanzo wouldn’t give it to him that easily. He kept his gaze on the ground, though his smile was playful, “Perhaps, Cowboy.” 

“Well, I sure would find myself mighty lucky if ya were.” 

“Yes,” Hanzo tossed his head back at Jesse, eyes flirty, “You would.” 

Jesse looked absolutely shell-shocked. His head even bounced back for a moment before he melted into a smile. He let out a whispered, “Boy howdy,” before changing the subject, “So, what brings ya here? Yer a long way from home.” 

Hanzo sighed, discarding his now cold cup of coffee into a trashcan, the second one today he’d neglected. He shrugged, tilting his head in reply, “School. My dad does a lot of business here. He said it would be good for me to get to know the area.” That reply was more truth than lie, though the lie of omission was still there. “Are you in school too?” 

McCree laughed at that question, as if it were the most absurd question ever, “Naw. After Abuela passed away, I took ta being a free spirit. I go wherever I damn well please.” 

Hanzo couldn’t imagine an unstructured existence. He had been told what, where, and when for his entire life. “That sounds unstable and idiotic.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it ain’t. Really just depends I guess.” He shrugged, turning to eye Hanzo, “An’ sometimes, ya get the best views from right on tha ground.” 

Hanzo didn’t even bother looking away, much preferring to offer a sly smile, “Are you flirting with me, Cowboy?” 

“I think yer smart enough t’figure that one out.” Jesse returned Hanzo’s look with his own mischievous grin. 

Hanzo found himself frozen, just gazing up into the other’s tan face. He had the smirk of the devil, and Hanzo could feel his heart flipping against his ribs, breath catching in his throat. He swallowed, breaking the gaze in favor of looking at the sidewalk. The sun was setting, casting shards of brilliance across the sleepy town, beams of oranges and pinks hitting the low rooftops. He became suddenly aware of how romantic this all felt. He stayed silent. 

Jesse spoke with the desperation of a man trying to grip onto something he was losing a hold of. He cleared his throat, “Anyways, er…” he paused to find a suitable conversation topic, “What’s yer major?” 

Classic. Good save. “Business,” Hanzo replied easily, though, here, in this setting, it felt wrong on his lips. A business degree had been his father’s idea, not his own. 

“You got a minor?” 

Hanzo found himself mentally freezing once again. That wasn’t a usual question. He peered back up at Jesse, licking his lips, “What? Why?- What does that matter?” 

Jesse didn’t break eye contact, he just looked at the other with an open expression, “I find oftentimes that folks’ll choose a major ta make money, and a minor ta follow their dreams.” He stopped, encouraging, “What’s yer minor?”

Hanzo looked straight ahead, voice small in this large space that suddenly felt too intimate. He swallowed, “Religious studies.” 

Jesse gave him a small smile, a playful snort coming from his nose, “Now, why are ya gonna put religious studies with yer business degree?” He was trying to joke, trying desperately to fix a situation he had caused. 

It was too close, too close to another person. The stupid cowboy had had one conversation with him, but Hanzo suddenly felt raw and vulnerable. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cough into it. “I um.. I have somewhere to be.” Hanzo turned, giving Jesse a slight bow, “Thank you for the coffee, and I am sorry for the trouble I caused you.” Hanzo turned to leave, but as stopped by a gentle hand on his wrist. 

“Wait,” Jesse’s voice was weak, confused, but his face was open, hoping, “Could I, uh, get yer phone number?” 

Hanzo stared at him, stared at the honey brown reflected from the light in his eyes. He followed the curve of his lips, the tilt of his brows. This man was vulnerable and hoping, and Hanzo had the unique ability to completely shut him down. 

He did not.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. If you like it, please comment and stuff. I don't know when I'll have the next chapter out. It's only half written so yeah


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